


some people wanna kill their sorrows

by shandygaff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Attempted Murder, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Drowning, Dubcon Kissing, Immortality, M/M, Minor Violence, Multiple Universes Colliding, POV Second Person, Self-cest, Temporary Character Death, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shandygaff/pseuds/shandygaff
Summary: The drag of water down your face almost feels like a lover's caress.





	some people wanna kill their sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Sports Anime Shipping Olympics 2017: Bonus Round 3, and has since been recently edited to fit my current writing style.
> 
> Consider this a meld of canon, FHQ verse and the possibilities of many futures slapped into one where demon king Oikawa runs amok amongst the verses, showering his other selves with a misguided sense of romance.

The drag of water down your face almost feels like a lover's caress.

Gasping, you heave yourself up from where your head was laid in the stream, a mouthful of water dribbling past your lips and onto your chin chillingly slow, like the crawl of an insect. Trying to breathe right now sets your lungs on fire and you cough and cough, desperately hoping to extinguish the burn by spewing out the rest of the water that clogs your windpipe.

It's torture, it's agony, but the fact that you're still _alive_ gives you a new lease to claw unto, and it keeps you from flinching as a presence draws up behind your back, unwilling to give _him_ the pleasure of intimidation.

When he speaks, his voice grates as asphalt would on raw skin.

"Ah, I thought you'd have liked to stay under for just that little bit longer."

Familiar fingers slide around the base of your neck, curling around to cup your chin, and two (falsely) gentle, gentle thumbs begin stroking the pale ends of your lips, wiping away the moisture caught in between. You look up into the gaze of a man who shares your face, your eyes, and your widest smile, and then it's easy to decide on rebellion; you rear your head back, and spit at his feet.

You think, with glorious bitterness and all the fury rolling under your skin: **fuck** _him._

(It's a feeble attempt at defiance, you know, you _know_ but anything's better than just giving in without some bite.)

The hands encircling your throat tighten, barely allowing you to breathe; the most minute of warnings. "Is that your way of saying you want another refreshing dip? The water's right here and I'm _always_ ready to help!"

"That eager to start drowning me again?" The words croak out, heavy and scratchy from both sarcasm and your recovering vocal chords. Unsteadily, your hands lift and tug at the ones around your neck.

It's a surprise when they simply give way.

He huffs as if he's fond, as if he's merely placating a stubborn pet that's refusing a treat he's been dangling in front of for ever so long, and it comes off almost loving; the implication of it all nearly makes you want to vomit again. "Spoilsport."

"I can't let you just kill me for fun, you know." You grin, despite how out of sorts your current reality has come to be. White sparks fizzle at the corners of your vision. In your head comes alive the beginning of a scheme.

The stream before the both of you glistens serenely, beckoning for any hapless soul to slip in and become one with its bed. It didn't feel all that deep earlier, but you've grown not to trust most things seemingly dormant, for their true colours could be the death of you.

The most shining example: this murderous other self of yours.

His horns are sharper, longer than usual, and you don't know what to make of that. There's probably a correlation somewhere between the number of people he's killed and the length those twisting, dark bones will grow to, but that's mercifully none of your business.

(Your business, here and now, is to _make it out alive._ )

You begin edging away as discreetly you can. Closer and closer towards the shimmering river bank you go, the hurtling rush of water like laughter in your ears, ringing and loud.

He follows, of course, and when you're both right at the tip of the loamy edge you put on your sweetest smile and crook a finger towards your lips.

You want a kiss.

He complies enthusiastically, ever passionate, forcing his tongue against yours further and further into your mouth like he's trying his utmost to conquer some forsaken crest within you, and it generates the only warmth you get after feeling so cold for so long. It almost makes you regret what you're going to have to do next.

"You know that I love you, right?" You breathe against his lips. They're scarred, bitten down countless times for reasons you can only dream of. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

"I do, I do!" He chirps back, always so excited to affirm his adoration towards you, allegedly the sole object of his affections (which you don't believe for even one hot second). He kisses you again, once, twice, a few softer times before continuing: "I love every single one of _you_ , whether it's the limping highschooler, the National team player or the one that winds up dead even before anything else!"

You snort. How reassuring. With that knowledge firmly in mind, you slip your hands around his nape and grab the brown curls there tightly, lulling him into a guileless moment of silence; then without further ado, you twist, and shove his head, satisfyingly, underwater.

There are the sounds of struggle, of water gurgling and finding a home in the cavity of his lungs, and you don't stop holding him down until you feel his whole body come to a still.

You leave him there like that, limp by the side of the stream, and count down the days to when he'll come visit you again, as you make your escape.

(It won't take very long since out of the two of you, he's the one who's undead.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "swimming pools (drank)" covered by salvia palth. Thank you for reading.


End file.
